


every moment liable to fall

by asphodelgrimoire



Series: sinners in the hands of an angry god [6]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Military Themes - Freeform, Miscarriage (Mentioned), Past Relationship(s), Trans Aaron Burr, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 21:44:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7331665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asphodelgrimoire/pseuds/asphodelgrimoire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aaron doesn’t come out of the bedroom for a while.</p><p>The door, however, stays open.</p>
            </blockquote>





	every moment liable to fall

**Author's Note:**

> things get better
> 
> kind of
> 
> title is from jonathan edwards' sermon

Aaron doesn’t come out of the bedroom for a while.

The door, however, stays open.

Jon gets him food, lies with him, gives him space when he needs it, and smothers him with attention when he needs that too. Aaron clutches to him desperately every single night and wakes up in the early morning hours cold and empty. Jon pulls Aaron closer to him, and he feels small, feels like Jon would give anything for him to be okay. He hears it sometimes, when he kisses the top of Aaron’s head and prays for him. The thought warms him, if only a bit.

Rebecca comes in one morning while Jon is out grocery shopping, a shy William in tow behind her. She smiles at Aaron, then gives William a little nudge. Still abashed, he hesitates briefly before walking to the bed with a little glass of droopy, but colorful flowers. There’s water in the glass, and he thrusts it out in front of him. “Will wanted to pick flowers for you,” Rebecca explains. “Do you want to tell him what they are?”

“Um, bluebells and white clovers from my yard,” he says, and Aaron takes the glass from him, inspecting the flowers and eventually placing them on the bedside table where he can see them.

“Thank you. I love them,” Aaron says earnestly, and he wants to smile for William’s sake, but he can’t. Not yet.

William remains unoffended, in any case, tips his hat at Aaron with a grim sort of sympathy that belies his age. He and Rebecca leave quickly after that.

Jon smiles when he sees the flowers, but doesn’t ask. He doesn’t have to.

Elizabeth doesn’t come inside or talk to him, but she peeks in whenever she passes by to see how he’s doing.

One day, Mr. Bellamy just sits next to him. They don’t talk, but he sits there for a while, then puts a hand on the back of Aaron’s neck in understanding. Aaron supposes that he does understand, more than he even knows.

Another day, David comes in with a plastic Tupperware container and a spoon. He knocks on the doorframe and only steps in when Aaron nods. “Hey,” he says, and Aaron can’t help but think that he and Jon barely resemble each other. David is awkward and tall enough to bump his head on doorways, a little bit more put together than Jon is, but a little less patient. He dresses the way Timothy always did, and he sometimes talks on his earpiece in the middle of dinner. Aaron always assumed David didn’t like him.

And yet.

“My wife made you some chicken and rice soup, uh, and I warmed it up a little if you want to eat it now, but if not, uh, I’ll just leave it in the fridge,” he says, slowly making his way towards the bed where Aaron sits. “Can I-?” He gestures vaguely at the bed, and sits next to Aaron when he nods an affirmative. He puts the container on a flat part of the comforter. “I know you probably don’t need to hear any personal sob stories right now, so I’ll try not to waste much of your time, but given the situation… I think you should know this. My wife- Silence- had a miscarriage a little less than a year ago. She didn’t want to leave the house for weeks. She didn’t want to be alone either. I always felt like a moron, missing something that had never been a part of me in the first place. I didn’t even want to tell my boss why I was asking for personal leave, because- of all things- I was embarrassed. I wasn’t able to stop it from happening, and I thought I should’ve been. We both assumed it was our fault, somehow. I still do sometimes, and I’m sure it’s worse for her, but we’re getting to the point of realizing that there was nothing we could do. That sucks too, but there’s no way to get around grief, so every option sort of has to suck for a while,” He continues.

“Um, as individuals, we have a really small influence, so to say everything bad that happens to us is our own fault is unrealistic. It’s not anybody’s fault. There was nothing I could do to stop that, and there was nothing you could do to stop this. And nobody else put in your place would be able to either. I promise you’ll get it pretty soon, you’re a bright guy; life just happens at its own pace, ugh Jesus,” David puts his head in his hands even as Aaron’s expression remains blank. “That had to be the worst motivational speech ever. But I mean it. This won’t do you much good now, the wound’s still open, but later you’ll get it,” And then he laughs a little, sits back up to look at Aaron with a crooked smile. “When you’re my age having a mid-twenties crisis. Then you’ll have some pseudo-psychological rant prepared too.”

Aaron doesn’t say anything; he doesn’t have anything to say, really. He nods to show he’s been listening, that he appreciates David coming in and talking to him. He’s right that it doesn’t make things much better to think that they’re all helpless, but it’s realistic, and Aaron has something to look forward to, even if he knows it’s far off; getting better.

David stands up, claps a hand on his shoulder. “Good talk,” he says jokingly, a nervous expression in place. “I think, uh, the soup is still pretty warm, if you want it. And there’s a bigger container of it in the fridge. I’ll go now,” He puts the plastic container on the table and turns to walk out.

“Wait,” Aaron says, and he stops, looks over his shoulder. “Can you thank her for me? This is really nice, she didn’t have to. And thanks for talking to me.”

David looks almost shocked, scratches the back of his neck shyly. “Yeah, of course. No problem,” Then he shuffles out, ducking his head so he doesn’t run into the doorframe. Aaron watches him go, then eats the soup quickly. He would usually wait for Jon to get back with something for him (which makes him feel terrible anyway) but it’s nice and warm. He gets hungry in the middle of the day when the family is up, and Jon is out or busy. Aaron knows that he should probably start walking again, to places other than the bathroom, but his legs have been so weak, and he doesn’t even want to stand, much less walk to the kitchen and socialize. The soup is convenient and satisfying in a way that food usually doesn’t manage. He’s always hungry, but this is filling enough to distract him a little. He finishes it, and he’s able to nap afterwards. When he wakes up next to Jon in the middle of the night, he slinks out of bed and goes to the refrigerator with the spoon he used earlier, sitting at the dining table in the dark with a container of cold soup. He makes a dent in it, and fits himself back into Jon’s arms before it gets light outside.

The next day, Jon wakes up late, stays in bed with him longer. Aaron takes advantage of every minute he can get, tempting Jon to get back in bed when he goes to the bathroom. It works. He mutters something about being a sucker before sluggishly climbing back into bed and holding Aaron close to his chest like a doll.

When Aaron wakes next, Jon isn’t with him, and there’s a short moment where he can’t breathe. Then he looks at the clock- 3 PM- and realizes that Jon must be in the living room, or out shopping.

But Jon comes in minutes later with a package and a plastic bag. “It’s for you,” he says, sitting next to Aaron on the bed with an unreadable expression. “I got you some things, but you might want to open that one first.”

He doesn’t want to open that one first. He sees ARIN in red sharpie on the label, and he doesn’t want to open it. It’s a heavy olive green parcel, and the packed contents feel like thick fabric under his fingers. A little square in the center feels more plastic-like. He guesses that it’s some sort of blanket for sympathy or maybe a sweater, with a card. He doesn’t want it still. “Will you look at it with me?”

“Of course,” Jon answers without hesitation. Aaron rips the package open to see what looks like a grey sweatshirt, and a note tied with jute twine in the middle.

-

_Arin-_

_The funeral is going to be on July 4 th, at 9 AM. It’ll be at the veterans’ cemetery in Stockbridge. Timothy will be there, and I know that you don’t want to see him, but you’re welcome to come if you’d like to. I know Matt would want you to be there, but he wouldn’t want you to feel unsafe for his sake. If you feel better staying home, there are no hard feelings. He loved you. _

_In any case, I thought you should have these. I sent them to you as soon as they arrived for me._

_\- Rhoda_

-

Aaron feels his throat close up as he reads. _He loved you. He loved you. He loved you._ He throws the note to the side and looks at the bundle tied neatly underneath it. Photographs. He knows who they’re of, and he doesn’t want to see them. Jon squeezes his shoulders. He chokes back tears, lifting the military sweatshirt to his face and finding an identical green one under it. He puts them both to the side and startles at a small metallic noise. Jon solves the mystery, rolling the hem of the shirt up gently. It’s so reverent, like he doesn’t want to disturb Aaron’s somehow tangible memory of Matt. He picks up the chain inside of the fabric and hands it to Aaron, drapes it over his fingers so he can hold it tight.

He stares at the tags until his eyes burn.

 

OGDEN, MATTHIAS, J  
4571220113  
O-  
NO PREF

 

Aaron doesn’t cry when he sees the dog tags. He wants to, but he doesn’t. He keeps them hanging on his fingers like a rosary while he takes out the last items. A flattened navy blue hat, and a similar jacket with gold buttons in the middle and striped ribbons in a neat line on one side. “Medals?” he asks, almost inaudible. Almost rhetorical.

“Yeah,” Jon answers anyway, just as quiet. “Can I touch?” As if Aaron is the one to ask. He nods, and Jon runs his finger over one of the medals, a polished golden cross attached to a short ribbon. “I think Mom still has her garment bag from the wedding. We can take good care of it. The medals too.”

He puts the still-folded jacket on the chest at the end of the bed and climbs into Jon’s lap, finally letting the tears fall. It isn’t like the past few nights- fierce and wailing. He doesn’t make a sound, but Jon knows, like always. He wipes wetness from Aaron’s cheek and rests his head on Aaron’s shoulder.  

“What did you get?” Aaron says, then sniffs and rubs at his eyes with the heel of his palms.

Jon smiles. “First, can you fetch that tin you got in Mystic?” He kisses Aaron, just a small peck, before he stands up and does as he’s asked, even though it makes no sense. He had put it in the closet among other small things Jon got for him on pure impulse, not even unwrapping it beforehand. Now he tears the tissue paper off neatly and sits back in Jon’s lap. Aaron waits for more instruction, or an explanation. Jon reaches around him to trace the red cross on the front of the tin, then undoes the latch. “Okay,” he says, and Aaron can hear him rummaging through the plastic bag. He pulls out a thick pen and a pocket-sized journal, holds it in front of Aaron. “I thought maybe you’d want something to do with your hands, or if you wanted to write instead of talk, you could write in this, and see-“ Jon clicks the pen once and scribbles in circles on the journal’s first page, then clicks a different tab and scribbles again, in bright purple. Aaron notices a circle of multi-colored tabs around the pen. “There are different colors,” Jon curls his fingers around it and watches him scrawl and click in a rainbow of harsh lines, thoroughly distracted with the repetitiveness of it.

Aaron quickly puts both pen and journal into the first aid tin, wanting to know what else Jon got. He takes out a small, dark blue candle next. “I don’t know about this one, but I think you’ll like how it smells,” Jon says, and lets him hold the jar. Aaron lifts it to his face, inspects it and sniffs. His nose is stuffed, but he can smell it faintly. It reminds him of prom night, candied and humid, smells a little like Matt’s cologne, looks like his blue dress. He always wanted to burn it.

The reminder is satisfying just as much as it is heartbreaking. Aaron puts the lid back on, and places it into the tin. He twists his hands in his lap.

Then, Jon takes out a large bag of sour candy. “And well, I just saw these at the checkout counter, so,” Aaron plucks a black cherry-flavored one out of the already-open bag, looks at it curiously and pops it into his mouth. “I tried one in the car, but I spit it out in around three seconds,” Jon laughs as Aaron briefly makes a face, then strokes his cheek. “You’re a stronger man than I,” And Aaron moves the candy around in his mouth absently with embarrassment at the seemingly off-handed compliment. It’s sour, and it stings a little, but he likes having something to focus on.

Jon’s expression slowly becomes timid, and he averts his gaze. “The last thing I didn’t, um, buy today, I didn’t buy it at all, actually, I just- I put it in the bag, to carry, I guess- because, um-“ He’s rambling, but stops himself with a pained look that suggests he knows how awkward he sounds. Aaron privately thinks that he was wrong in denying Jon’s resemblance to David. He can see the similarities in their grimacing lips, furrowed brows. “I don’t know, you can just, see if you want it or not, you don’t have to take it, I just thought,” Jon shoves a ruby-red book into his hands without another word. It’s made of worn leather, and has a floral pattern carved into the front of it. Yellow and blue tabs line the pages and jut out from the side of it. Aaron opens to the cover page and finds ‘To: Matthew Bellamy’ neatly written on the front page.

“My great-great grandfather,” Jon explains before he can ask, and Aaron gapes, turning the page delicately to discover that the book is a Bible. “And it isn’t the King James Version either,” he continues, then scoffs. “Why people even read that is a mystery to me. I had some tabs in it already, but I added some to the verses I thought you might like. This one’s been in the family forever, and usually all the siblings would have access to it, but I asked Dad, and he doesn’t mind if you keep it. None of us really care about family heirlooms anyway. We have a lot of Bibles too.”

Aaron turns around and looks at Jon, who smiles, dazed. He puts the tin on the bed beside him.  “I love you,” he whispers brokenly.

“I love you too,” Jon whispers back, his eyes open and searching.

“Matt was my boyfriend,” Aaron admits suddenly, not sure if he fears that Jon will take everything back in knowing that he’s buying things in memory of Aaron’s ex, or if he hopes that’ll be the case. He doesn’t deserve any of it. “I still love him,” he says. It’s only partly true; he wasn’t _in_ love with Matt before he died, but now he doesn’t know. Aaron’s always loved him, even if it was only as a friend.

“You should still love him,” Jon says, frowns at him. “God won’t judge you or him for that.”

Aaron blinks. “That’s not what I-“

Jon doesn’t understand. “We have to get a display case for his medals.”

“Stop. You aren’t getting it. You don’t want him on your wall,” Aaron protests, raising his voice only slightly. “You don’t want his jacket in place of your mother’s wedding dress, you don’t want me praying for him with your family Bible. He was in love with me.”

“Why would that change anything?” Jon asks, not a hint of irritation in his voice. He just sounds frustrated, and Aaron hates to think that he contributed to that. “I understood what you said, but I didn’t want to acknowledge it. What better could I do with my walls, my closet, my Bible- than lend it to you, for someone you care about? Not to mention, who cared about you?” Aaron swallows dryly and tries to formulate a response, but Jon isn’t done. “What could be more important to me than you and the people you love? Of course I want his medals on my wall. I’m honored that any part of him is in my house in the first place. I want _you_ here more than anything,” he says, and his voice breaks, just slightly. “There isn’t a single part of you I don’t want with every bone in my body.”

“I’m sorry,” Aaron says, embarrassed but overjoyed by what Jon admitted and ashamed for questioning him. Tears well up in his eyes. _He loved you. He loves you._

Jon only nuzzles him in response. “You don’t have to be sorry. It’s alright.”

Aaron’s heart pounds with how much he loves Jon, and he sobs. “Yours,” he says simply through it, hoping that Jon will understand what he means and claim him, say that Aaron is his.

But he doesn’t. “Yours,” Jon replies, just as simple, then his eyes light up. “I know you don’t want any more family heirlooms, but I just thought of something, and I want you to have it. Can I get it for you?” Aaron nods and climbs out of his lap, watches Jon leave. He organizes the items in the tin so they look nice, hesitantly lowering the Bible into it as well. Jon wants the medals on display. Jon wants to help him keep Matt’s memory intact. Jon wants _him._ He knew it before, but now he can’t possibly doubt that Jon only wants the best for him, would do anything for him. The thought makes him sob again.

Jon comes back quickly with piece of multi-colored fabric in his hand. “This is my mom’s, I mean, my first mom. You never met her, but I think you heard her over the phone a few times. I don’t think I even mentioned to you, when she died, but it was only a year ago,” Aaron grabs his shoulder at that, silently asking why Jon never told him. He knows better than to be hurt. “We both had a lot of stuff happening, and I always knew I could tell you anything, but I just, didn’t want to. I didn’t talk about it with anyone outside the family. Dad didn’t either. We’re kind of stubborn. It’s just, I have seven siblings, you know? I already had to talk and think about it too often. And it was so recent, you’d think I’d be sadder right now, but with such a big family, the mourning burned out quick. We’re still mourning in our own ways, it’s just less distinct because we have each other,” he explains, and lets Aaron settle back into his arms.

“I don’t have anyone,” Aaron says without thinking of how insensitive it sounds.

“That’s not true. You have me and your sister now. But before? You didn’t. He was there when nobody else was, right?” Aaron nods, just slightly. “Mom would want you to have something of hers, but I don’t think you’d let me give you anything important, and she had a million of these silk napkins. You can cover the box with them or something. And-“ He gently presses his thumb into the center of Aaron’s palm, inspects the dog tags that are still tangled in his fingers. “You can wrap this. To keep it safe. Okay?” Jon squeezes his hand.

“Okay,” Aaron agrees, dropping the tags into a yellow napkin and letting Jon fold it delicately, once, then twice over. He places it in the corner of the tin, near Aaron’s journal, and pats it protectively. He allows Aaron to drape three other napkins over all the items in the tin. “Wait,” Jon says, and grabs the stack of photographs. “These should go in too, but- let’s keep one out to put in the display case, maybe?”

Aaron wants to see Matt again, doesn’t think it’ll hurt too much. Even if it does, it’s worth it. Jon holds the photos while he unties the twine holding them together. He flips through them slowly. The first isn’t of Matt, just the inside of a tent. There’s a few pictures of him and other soldiers playing cards, one of a brightly-lit house at night, Matt sitting on his bed with an American flag behind him, a photo of what appears to be morning drills, and one with a table full of McDonald’s burger wrappers.

“To be fair, the McDonald’s one is truly American,” Jon says, and Aaron elbows him gently, smiling for the first time this week.

“I like the flag one. It’s just him,” he says, and Jon nods against his shoulder. He re-ties the twine and lifts one napkin to slide the stack of photos underneath it. He takes out one more sour candy before closing the tin and redoing the latch. Aaron feels oddly peaceful with his box of grieving supplies. Arranging things always makes him feel better somehow.

“For now, let’s put it here,” Jon props the picture up against the lamp. Aaron nods, satisfied. “What do you want to do for the Fourth of July? I can come with you to the funeral, if you’d like-“

“No,” Aaron replies quickly, clutching at Jon’s shirt sleeve. “I don’t want to go. Can we do something for him here?”

“Of course,” Jon says, easy. He rubs in circles on Aaron’s back until he’s relaxed again.

Later, after Jon brings him dinner, he lies in bed with Matt’s sweatshirt on, almost at peace. He hears conversation from the kitchen. Jon had gone to help his dad with the dishes.

“Do you think Lucy would know how to make a display case for medals?” Jon asks.

“Lucy can make anything if you give her an idea,” Mr. Bellamy responds, and they both laugh softly.

“I’ll ask her tomorrow. It needs space for a flag and a picture,” he says soberly when the laughter ends. “Maybe even a plaque.”

Mr. Bellamy still sounds jovial. “A plaque? That’s ambitious.”

“His name needs to be up there somehow,” Jon insists. “It can be wood, I guess. The guy gives me a cherry wood vibe. Aaron will know what I mean. Or he’ll know better than I do, actually. He should choose. But I think something red would look best,” He pauses, then laughs again. “How gay do I sound right now?”

“Still not as gay as your sister.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t ever beat Mrs. No Makeup Jeep Wrangler,” Jon scoffs. “What an overachiever.”

“You gave a good effort,” Mr. Bellamy adds, and a few more plates clatter into the dishwasher. “In any case, how is Aaron?”

“He’s a little better, I think. He liked what I got for him. And he has his friend’s personal items now. That probably has more to do with it. He’ll need a suit bag for the dress uniform jacket, probably. We don’t want it to get wrinkled,” Jon explains, while the washing cycle is set to a steady hum. They walk into the hallway and stop right in front of the open bedroom door. Aaron closes his eyes, pretends to be asleep.

Mr. Bellamy’s voice gets quiet so as not to wake anyone up. “I have at least one he could use,” he says, then continues lowly. “You take care of that boy.”

“Yessir,” Jon replies, not a hint of playfulness in his tone.

“Good, now sleep,” Mr. Bellamy says with a finality, patting Jon’s cheek.

“Night, Dad,” he laughs. The lighter set of footsteps retreat, and Jon lies down beside Aaron carefully to avoid jostling him. Jon pulls him to his chest, and he rubs his eyes in an attempt to look unknowing and half-awake. “Hey,” Jon says softly, kisses his forehead. “You okay?”

“Mhm,” Aaron mumbles into his collarbone.

He can feel Jon’s smile, the same one he fell in love with. “Okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> again, i know nothing about the military
> 
> actually i know a lot about the military but ya know.... most of it is useless information
> 
> the nature of matt's medals will be clarified in the next fic, probably
> 
> talk to me abt this @ transaaronburr.tumblr.com


End file.
